


Solace

by doctorletmebebrave



Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: Akane is a good friend, Angst, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Oneshot, Recovery, Some fluff too, dime is a Good Dog, finale and post season 1, i wrote this two years ago ok so whatever i just wanted more exposure for a small fandom, light ginaka but it could totally be read as platonic, makishima is a jerk, masaoka was a Good Man, minor descriptions of injury, recovering from truamatic events, slightly suicidal thoughts, so is kougami, the fallout after season 1 ft. poor ginoza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 09:44:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11598045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorletmebebrave/pseuds/doctorletmebebrave
Summary: He can feel his heart beating. It's loud, and fast and it's annoying; his should be still and quiet, not his father's. There is blood everywhere; some of it is his, and some of it is Masaoka's. None of it is Makishima's. Set after episode 21, follows Ginoza's struggles to reinvent himself after the events that transpired at the factory.





	Solace

**Author's Note:**

> look man i wrote this two years ago when i was super into psycho-pass and i just wanted to repost it here on ao3 where it might get more views. it's old, there's probably mistakes, but overall it isn't bad enough for me to edit it again. also i'm a sucker for that angst and i think showing recovery from trauma is important. please enjoy. review or kudos if you want.

He can feel his heart beating. It’s loud, and fast and it’s annoying; his should be still and quiet, not his father’s. He intuitively know that this is not all he should be feeling, that his arm should have him screaming in agony, but all he feels is numb.  
There’s blood everywhere; this, his mind registers. It has pooled and coalesced over the floor, and the smell of it hangs thickly in the air. Some of it is his, and some of it is Masaoka’s.  
None of it is Makishima’s.  
_It should be, all of it._  
Ginoza lets out a strangled sob, and buries his head into Masaoka’s trench coat. He’s crying now, tears slowly soaking the coat. Each rack of his body hurts, evading even the numbness that surrounds everything else. Dully, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that he’s probably broken some ribs.  
It doesn’t matter, though, because nothing tops the way his mind is screaming in this moment.  
_This shouldn’t have happened this shouldn’t have happened this should have been me this should have been me--_  
Time is indeterminate; seconds stretch out into hours and minutes into days. His eyes feel heavier now, and he’s almost about to drift off to sleep when he hears footsteps clatter urgently toward him.  
“Ginoza!” It’s Yayoi. She skids to a stop, and kneels next to him. He doesn’t feel like lifting his head, oddly enough. “Oh my god,” she murmurs, and tentatively takes hold of his good hand, thumb to his wrist. She’s taking his pulse, and she breathes a sigh of relief upon finding it light and quick. She doesn’t take Masaoka’s, he notices, and even though he knows that it’s obvious and would have done no good, it is still a fresh stab of pain.  
Her presence has helped to shake him out of his trance, and he lifts his head. _I can’t fall asleep; it’s too dangerous._ “Ku-Kunizuka?”  
“Yeah,” she says breathily. “Can you sit up?”  
He stares at her, unblinking. She gets the message, and he cooperates as she helps him up into a sitting position. Ginoza admires how calmly she acts, even with the scene before her. Then again, she is a latent criminal--things like this don’t affect her nearly as much.  
Ginoza briefly wonders what his psycho pass is right now. He wonders if _he’s_ a latent criminal.  
“How badly are you hurt?”  
Ginoza looks at his left arm, which dangles limply by his side. It’s completely drenched in red sticky blood, and hangs at an unnatural angle. “Dislocated,” he whispers. “Crushed, probably.”  
Yayoi nods solemnly. “Anything else?” Her tone is steady and businesslike, but Ginoza has worked with her long enough to know that she’s scared as well. He was never one to get to know the Enforcers well, but years of proximity have a tendency to rub off on you.  
“I think . . . “ He coughs and winces, the action only solidifying what he is going to say next. “ . . . my ribs . . . some are broken.” His knees are raw and bloody as well, but that is not of urgency, he thinks.  
“Masaoka . . .” he starts.  
“I’m sorry, Ginoza. He’s dead.” _Those words should have never had to have been said aloud._  
He coughs again. “There was an explosion . . .”  
“I know,” Yayoi says. “I could view the security cameras.”  
“Makishima . . . got away.”  
“It’s okay.”  
“Kougami went after him . . .”  
“He’ll catch him. I promise. If there’s one person who can get him, it’d be Kougami.” Yayoi reaches out and tucks some strands of hair behind Ginoza’s ear--an action that he would normally despise. “Did you see Akane? She tried to warn you before it happened, she was running down to where you were.”  
“I don’t . . . know,” he replies slowly. His memory is all muddled; he barely remembers when Shinya ran past.  
“It’s alright. I’m going to call a med evac. I don’t suppose you could stand?” Ginoza shakes his head. “That’s okay.” She pulls up the holo from her wrist.  
Ginoza looks back down at Masaoka, and reflects on his last words. _You are my son, after all . . ._ He furrows his brow, and his mouth draws into a sharp line. _Why did I take him for granted?_  
It’s ironic. Ginoza has tried so hard to not follow in his father’s footsteps, but everything is circling. He’ll lose his arm; just like Masaoka. His psycho pass is rising; just like Masaoka’s did. His eyes are the same. He can’t get away, no matter how hard he tries.  
But maybe that isn’t so bad.  
He suddenly feels awful. The shock must be wearing off now, because his arm is starting to give him hell. He bites his lip to keep from screaming--every breath shifts it a little. He knows that the limb can’t be saved.  
Yayoi turns her attention on him again, and takes off her coat. “The med evac is coming, but I still have to stop your bleeding. I’m so, so sorry, but this is going to hurt very bad. I wish I could see a way to avoid this, but you’ll bleed out if I don’t.” He manages a tight nod. His head already feels like it’s spinning through space, and his logic tells him that no matter how much the action to come will hurt, it will be better than dying.  
_Or would it?_  
Ginoza doesn’t ponder the thought any further because next thing he knows Yayoi is on his other side, binding his arm hard with her coat. It’s a difficult task given the scale of the injury, and no amount of lip biting can keep him from crying out this time. He tries to curl in on himself, but ends up leaning on Yayoi instead. _The pain . . . won’t . . . stop. . ._  
Ginoza flicks open his eyes an unknown amount of time later, totally unaware that he’d closed them in the first place. He is laying on the floor beside Masaoka’s body. _Must’ve . . . passed out. Was . . . moved._ A shot of panic runs through him. _Can’t . . . be moved . . . Masaoka. . ._  
He tries to sit up--a big mistake. “Ah!” he yelps, and immediately Yayoi is beside him again.  
“Don’t move,” she soothes. “The med evac will be here any minute now. They’ll hook up an IV, then load you and you won’t feel anything. They’ll take you back to the hospital.”  
He closes his eyes. “ . . . Yayoi?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Will you . . . stay?”  
“I’m sorry,” she replies, sounding strained. “You’ll have to go alone. I have to find Akane and Shinya.” _They . . . haven’t been found yet?_   This scares him a little further--more than the thought of being alone, because he trusts the med drones. This means that they haven’t been answering their comms, and knowing Makishima, that could be deadly.  
“Shh,” Yayoi whispers. “It’ll be okay.”  
He almost believes her.  
***  
He awakes in the hospital with a distinct feeling that something is wrong. It doesn’t take long for him to find the source of the problem: there’s nothing but empty space where his left arm used to be. The sight of the bandages wrapping it throws his stomach in a turmoil. This shouldn’t shock him so much--in this day and age the cybernetic arms are just as good as the real thing, and he’ll heal faster this way. Still, it sends shivers of apprehension through him--instinctual, he supposes.  
He feels no pain right now, thanks to an IV hooked to his other arm. He watches it drip for a few minutes, trying to gather his thoughts.  
The past few hours have been chaos, and Ginoza struggles to sort them. Whatever the med evac drones gave him, it made him sleep, so he doesn’t remember that. He remembers being awake at the hospital, right before going into surgery. He doesn’t remember what was said or what happened--just overwhelming fear that felt like ice in his veins.  
The only clear thing is Masaoka. While the rest is lost in a haze of pain and confusion, Masaoka remains crystal in his memory.  
It’s a rather unfortunate twist of fate.  
***  
The doctor comes in a short while later, clipboard in hand. “Hey,” he says, “Glad to see you awake.” Though his tone is light, his brow is set deep and severe, and Ginoza knows that the message coming next isn’t going to please him, even though he expects it.  
“Just tell me what you came in for,” Ginoza says severely, cutting to the chase. “Don’t try to sugarcoat things.”  
The man sighs, and Ginoza knows he’s being a difficult patient. He doesn’t care though--he only cares about the news that will make or break him. “Ginoza, after you leave this facility, we are going to have to put you in therapy for a bit.”  
He exhales slowly, and shifts his gaze to the ceiling. “What is my crime coefficient?”  
_Maybe it’s still saveable._  
_It’s probably not._  
“Your crime coefficient has risen to 148,” the doctor reports, and Ginoza’s heart skips a beat. He knew it was coming, knew that there was no way it could still be low, but it hurts all the same. _It jumped up so fast . . . is there any saving me now?_  
So it goes. He cannot escape, no matter how hard he tries. _How does Akane manage it? How does she keep her hue so clear? Why couldn’t I do that? I’m a hypocrite, and a failure._  
The doctor smiles sympathetically. “So, now that we’ve got that over with . . .” He continues on, giving Ginoza points on his injuries, their progression, etc.  
Ginoza doesn’t listen because the last thing on his mind right now is getting better.  
_I should be dead_ , he thinks, and believes it too.  
***  
He hates this room, but first and foremost he hates himself.  
The room is a pretty good opponent, however. With its three stark white walls and one open glass one, it practically screams pathetic.  
He sits with his back to the glass, knees drawn up to his chest even though the position makes his ribs twinge. He rests his head on his knees, and wraps his good arm around them too. There’s still empty space on his left side save for some wiring--the cybernetics people are taking their sweet time to fit him for the new appendage. They say he has to get used to the artificial nerves before they hook the rest of the arm up.  
Akane is on the other side of the glass. They’ve been doing this for a while now; she comes and visits for exactly an hour, and he ignores her completely. He doesn’t understand why she just keeps coming everyday, but he enjoys her presence. He just can’t bring himself to look at her--not after everything that happened, not after all his failures.  
She doesn’t bother to speak anymore, unlike the first couple of days. She just brings a book and sits with her back up next to where his is.  
She is taking care of Dime, and he’s grateful for that. He hopes the dog likes her, because Dime doesn’t really have much choice: latent criminals just aren’t allowed to have pets. He buries his head further, tears leaking out of his eyes. It’s such a stupid thing to be upset over, he thinks, given the rest of the mess he’s in, but he can’t help himself.  
_I’ve got nothing left._  
***  
“Nobuchika,” Akane says suddenly and sternly one day, and Ginoza stiffens, attention immediately on her. Masaoka was the last person to use his first name, on the day he died. The memories start to flow again unbidden, but he forces himself to focus on her words. “Nobuchika, you can’t do this anymore. It’s not good for you. There are people who care about you. You have to work on getting better so that you can come back to the MWPSB!”  
“Oh, Akane,” he murmurs, “I can’t go back to the MWPSB. I won’t get any better. Don’t you understand? My psycho pass has already stabilized the way it is.”  
Her voice is shaking, and even though he still can’t bring himself to look at her, he knows she’s on the verge of crying. “Well . . . that’s not so bad. You can be an Enforcer.” _Because we need more now._ She doesn’t say the words, but they hang in the air nonetheless.  
“No,” he replies coldly, cutting off the conversation further.  
He hates to be this caustic, especially since Akane was only trying to help. He just can’t see how he can go back.  
He had never made himself popular with the Enforcers. In fact, he was the first person to refer to them as hunting dogs--the name had stuck, and now all divisions operated under code names such as Shepherd and Hound. What type of person would he be if he had the nerve to come in as Enforcer, after all the trouble he’d given them before? _I’m just like them now._  
Akane leaves early today, and Ginoza doesn’t blame her.  
***  
Ginoza hates to admit it to himself, but Akane is right. He can’t stay in here; he’s been in here for just a month now and he can feel himself straying closer to madness every time the overenthusiastic interface greets him in the morning. He’s a person who’s been busy nearly every second of his life, and it is killing him to stay in this white room with nothing better to do than to think. Apparently this is evident, because when the cybernetics engineers come in to intall the rest of his prosthetic, they have to tell him to keep still several times.  
The arm takes some getting used to. He still can’t work it properly--every glass he’s tried to pick up has been shattered. He will have to learn how much pressure he needs to use, then differentiate depending on which hand he uses. It will come automatically eventually, they say.  
It resembles Masaoka’s, and he wants to cringe every time he catches it in his peripheral. It reminds him of how everything is circling, how he’s failed at nearly everything he cares about. He beats himself up about this many a day--sometimes about other things, but mostly about Masaoka.  
He’s also had time to think, however. He has this nagging feeling that he should just relax for once in his life, because Masaoka was actually a great man. He was loved by everyone in the division--had even earned himself a nickname of “Pops.” He had loved Ginoza deeply, even though Ginoza was well aware he was difficult to love. The resemblance between them doesn’t have to be hidden.  
He hasn’t worn his glasses again, either, for much the same reason. How could he, after what was said? His vision doesn’t rely on them anyway.  
Akane hasn’t come back in last few weeks; at least, not in the same way she did before. She drops in periodically, delivering updates about Dime before leaving again. It takes all his might to swallow his pride and talk to her today.  
He greets her at the glass, and sees her eyes fill with hope at his sight. Her short brown hair is rumpled, matching the disheveled creases in her uniform. Her eyes seem heavier, and it occurs to Ginoza that she’s gone through quite a lot as well. It makes his stomach twist in guilt. “Hi,” he says quietly and sincerely, feeling like he’d waited his entire life to utter that word.  
“Hi,” Akane breathes. “Oh my God, _hi._ ” _I didn’t know she was this worried about me._  
There is a substantial stretch of awkward silence; neither of them really know what to say next. What do you say after an incident like that, and barely talking for a month and a half? Ginoza uses the time as an opportunity to study his feet.  
Akane is the first to talk again. “How is your arm?”  
“It’s okay, I suppose. I’ve broken a lot of things,” he replies.  
“That’s still good,” she assures. “You’ll get used to it.”  
“So . . . how are things in Division One?” His words are tentative and empty; but he is relishing the opportunity to have small talk. He knows that they have bigger things to discuss, but for now . . . this is okay.  
“It’s, well, hectic. Just me and Yayoi right now. But nothing major’s come up, so that’s great.”  
“Is she doing okay?”  
“She’s fine. She worries about you, though.” _Of course. I mean, she was there after it happened . . ._  
“Shion?”  
“Same as ever.”  
“Dime?”  
“He misses you a lot, Ginoza.” She chuckles. “Better hurry on up and get out of here, he’s a little too big for me!”  
This makes Ginoza’s mouth tug upwards a bit. The mental image of the petite woman trying to corral his husky is quite amusing.  
“So, what’s it like in this place? I’ve never been in one.” Akane looks around, and Ginoza follows her head. The facility is pretty depressing, actually. Of course, it gets more depressing the longer you stay in it, but from an outside perspective it is still sad. There is just rooms and rooms and rooms and rooms, on as many levels as you can see. Some people--like Ginoza--have kept their living space fairly ordinary and orderly, but others seem to have gone haywire. It won’t be long until they are moved to more permanent housing. People like that are too far gone to waste Sybil’s time and space in a therapy department.  
“Ah, Akane, you’ll never have to be in one; your hue has always been clear. But hope you never have to be because,” he leans in a little closer, his hair falling forward, “their food is terrible.” It’s not all that is terrible about the place, but he’s not lying either. Government food really is atrocious.  
She laughs. “Sounds ghastly.”  
“It is,” he chuckles, and trails off. “It really is . . .” He startles back into the present. _It’s time to tell her I’ll be an Enforcer._  
“Actually, Akane,” he confesses, “I have something else to tell you.” He watches her whole body tense, and sympathy wells up in his chest. She really _is_ on edge. Division One must not be running as smoothly as she reports. “No, no, it’s not anything bad. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. About what I said last time we spoke.”  
She smiles, widely and genuinely, and her eyes look shiny.  
“I also, uh, wanted to say that I, uh . . . I want to come back. I’ll be an Enforcer.” It feels liberating to say the words. Detective work isn’t a fun job, and it isn’t easy, yet somehow it still has his heart even now. _Yayoi would accept me . . . wouldn’t she?_  
“Ginoza!” Akane cries. “That’s amazing! I’m so happy you decided to come back.”  
“I can’t stay in this place.”  
“I know,” she replies, and Ginoza aware that she understands him. She is always so perceptive.  
“It’s going to be a little strange, with you being my boss now.” An understatement.  
Akane nods. “It’ll be okay, though.” She types something on the face of her wrist holo. “I just scheduled an interview for you. I mean, you’ll be accepted anyway, but you know. Procedure.”  
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Procedure.”  
Together they talk more, face to face with nothing but the glass between them. Their conversation is about nothing in particular; they discuss Dime, the weather, _anything_. They both skirt around the heavier subjects. It is too soon right now--neither of them can take the thought of having to refer to Kagari, Masaoka and even _Shinya_ in the past tense.  
One day, maybe sooner, maybe later, they’ll be able to. They’ll _have_ to. But not today.  
***  
When the interview comes, he is more than ready. The extra time has served him well, and now there is no doubt in his mind that he has made the correct decision. He is free now, starting this afternoon, or at least as free as a dog on a leash can be. Still, the situation is leagues better than staying in a rehabilitation facility until he’s dead.  
The therapists are happy with his choice as well. While his crime coefficient remains stabilized in the triple digits, his hue has cleared considerably. _Of course it has,_ he thinks when they report this to him, _how would isolation and imprisonment with no prospects of freedom truly help anybody?_  
One thing, however, has been resting heavily on his mind since the beginning. Ginoza has to go visit his father. Too much time has passed while he was in the facility, and Ginoza already feels guilty enough as it is. He even had to miss the funeral; the doctors wouldn’t let him leave. They said he was still too sick to go, even with medicine. Ginoza knows they were right, but it still distresses him--it’s another failure in a long line.  
Ginoza walks out of the center, and smiles as the sun hits him. He closes his eyes takes a moment to appreciate it all--the sun, the breeze, the relative freedom. It is the time of year when the cherry blossoms are blooming everywhere, and he breathes in their sweet scent. When he reopens his eyes, Akane is standing in front of him.  
She rushes forward, wrapping him into an immense hug. She buries her face into his jacket, and he finds himself resting his chin on her head.  
“I’m so glad you’re back,” she murmurs. “So, so, so, so, glad . . .”  
It seems like an eternity, but eventually they pull away.  
Akane smoothes her blouse. “We should get going, yeah?”  
Ginoza nods, and they head toward the vehicle. “I want to make a stop first,” he says.  
“Wherever you’d like to go,” she answers. “We have all the time in the world today.”  
“I’d, ah, like to go see him. My father.”  
***  
His heart aches as they pull into the cemetery, and he chooses to go alone. The engraved names on the headstones blur under his gaze--hot tears threatening to spill over--but he finds Masaoka’s soon enough. Trinkets are scattered about on the cool stone, everything from keys, to pocket flasks of his favorite whisky, to a set of chess. He deposits his own offering, a bouquet of flowers.  
He sits back on his heels, and exhales slowly, trying to gather up the courage to speak. It’s hard, being alone, knowing that he’ll never get an answer to anything he says. “Hey,” he says gently, “it’s been awhile. I came to talk to you today . . . since I decided what to do next.” He kneels down, closer to his father, closer to the grave. “My Crime Coefficient went up to 140. There’s no longer a chance for recovery. But it’s not in my nature to sit around and mope in the isolation facility. So I decided to go back to where I used to work. You told me to take a different path. Guess I didn’t live up to your expectations. I’m a bad son in every respect, aren’t I? But strangely enough, I have no regrets. There’s nothing good about being a detective. Even so, it’s a job someone has to do. Right . . . dad?”  
It is just him and the silence. He wants to cry, feels like he should, but unlike when he was searching for the grave, the tears won’t come. He stands up again, and stares at the stone for a bit, eyes roving over every detail of his father’s carved name. When he can’t stand it anymore, he turns to leave.  
_I’ll visit again, soon . . . I promise._  
Akane is there waiting for him when he comes back, leaning on the car.  
“Sorry for troubling you,” he says.  
“That’s okay, it’s my duty to accompany an Enforcer when they go out,” she responds, tone light.  
They are on the freeway when a gloomy thought strikes Ginoza’s mind. “Unlike Kagari, at least my dad was able to get a grave. Division 2 was told to stop their investigation on him, right?”  
“Yes,” she replies, quietly.  
“I bet Kagari isn’t even alive anymore.” It’s the only solution that makes sense. “I’m sure the top brass found evidence of that, but they’re trying to sweep it under the rug and keep it from the public.”  
“I wonder where Mr. Kougami is,” she whispers, changing the subject. Ginoza wonders if he’s right, but he changes the subject with her regardless.  
“When a collar comes off such a wild hunting dog, he becomes no different from a wolf. Now that he’s back in the wild, maybe he’s living a comparatively free and easy going life.” Ginoza was still annoyed with Shinya, but his anger has long burned out. The man had always been restless, and maybe he would be happier free. Shinya would always be a friend to Ginoza, and despite it all, Ginoza wishes for his happiness.  
“Would living like that be relaxing?”  
“It’s not like he was living a relaxing life when he was an Enforcer, right? He was a persevering, cunning man who didn’t know when to give up. No matter how bad the situation, he’ll always pull through. The one I’m more concerned about . . . is you, Inspector Tsunemori.”  
“What? Me?” Akane replies airily. “You are ever the worrier, Ginoza.”  
“Let’s look at the future rather than the past,” Ginoza says instead. “A new Inspector will be assigned tomorrow, right?”  
“It’s unusual to hire a minor, isn’t it?”  
“We’re partially responsible for that.”  
There is a few seconds while they both ponder the information. Then, abruptly, Akane speaks. “By the way, may I ask you a trivial question?”  
“What is it?”  
“Were you wearing glasses for show?”  
“What?” His glasses. The last time he had worn them was the day they went to the factory, and the last time he saw them they had been lying crushed in a pool of his own blood. There was no point in wearing them anymore--especially not after what Masaoka told him--so Ginoza simply decided not to. “I don’t like how my face looks, especially my eyes. But I don’t care about that anymore, so . . .”  
It is true. Ginoza has struggled in many areas--self-esteem was a big one. The glasses were to hide his face, and somewhere along the line, he supposes he began to think that wearing them would help his psycho pass.  
_Akane wasn’t the only naive one, you know._  
Ginoza hasn’t felt the urge to hide for a while, so things must be looking up.  
***  
“So here’s your new room!” Akane announces happily when they reach the MWPSB. It is one of the past Enforcer’s rooms. “Yayoi, Shion and I cleaned it and helped move some of your stuff in here, but we’ll help you get the rest tomorrow.”  
“Thank you, but you didn’t have to do all of that . . .”  
“You’re our friend! Of course we did!” Akane smiles wider, eyes crinkling at the edges. Actually, he thinks, she is starting to look _suspiciously_ excited.  
“What’s going on?”  
“Just go in!” she squeaks, and Ginoza feels he has no choice but to comply.  
As he thrusts the key into the lock however, he hears an excited bark, paired with an impatient scratching. “Is that . . . oh my god!” The door swings open to find a very excited orange husky, who immediately tries to jump into his arms. _How did Akane manage this?_ He ruffles Dime’s ears, and scrunches up his nose as the dog tries to lick his entire face.  
“How on _earth_ did you manage this?!” he cries, straightening up to look at Akane. Dime wiggles back and forth, huge tail whipping to and fro with incredible speed. He yips once more.  
“I asked around, and was able to pull a few strings!” She replies excitedly. “You can keep him!”  
Before Ginoza has a chance to realize what he is doing, he finds himself wrapping the smaller Inspector into a huge hug.  
The moment is soon broken, though, when Dime leaps up, catching Ginoza in the back of his knees, and suddenly they are stumbling apart, laughing harder than they thought possible.  
Akane wipes a tear from her eye. “He’s certainly happy to see you.”  
“I’ll say.”  
“I was able to get you permission to keep him here--if anyone asks, he’s a therapy dog--but as part of the agreement, you’ll have to keep him caged when you’re away.”  
“That’s perfectly acceptable.” Ginoza smiles. “Thank you for this. No, really, _thank_ _you_.”  
“That’s what friends are for, eh?” Akane replies modestly. “Come on, let’s go inside.”  
***  
Division One was running better now. They were assigned a new Inspector, a minor. Ginoza is still skeptical of her, but given how utterly wrong he was about Akane when she came in, he supposes he doesn’t really have the place to be questioning the aptitude tests. Mika Shimotsuki is her name. He feels he’s heard it somewhere, but he can’t put a finger on where.  
Akane is still an enigma, though. Her perfect hue had actually fooled him into thinking that she was okay, something which in hindsight seemed preposterous. She’s lost nearly as much as he has.  
Still, though, it is shocking when he finds her on the balcony where he used to stand and stare at the city, a lit cigarette dangling from her fingertips.  
“Tsunemori!” He snaps, and she stiffens suddenly, dropping the cigarette. It flutters down off the side of the balcony, falling to the street stories below. “What do you think you’re doing?”  
“I-it’s not what it looks like,” she stutters, whirling around.  
“And what does it look like?” She doesn’t say anything. “Akane, don’t smoke. You know how harmful it is.”  
Finally, quietly: “I don’t actually smoke them.”  
“Second-hand smoke is just as bad.”  
“I know,” she says, voice breaking, and for the first time he notices the brand on the box sitting on the rail.  
It’s Shinya’s. She has been coming outside during her breaks just to light a cigarette and breath in his scent. Ginoza feels his heart break a bit.  
“I know,” she repeats, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I can’t help it though . . .”  
It is not the first time Ginoza has contemplated Akane’s relationship with Shinya. He nearly worried himself to death over them before the incident. It is, however, the first time he’s looked at it from Akane’s perspective, the first time he’s thought about since his values were forcibly adjusted. Akane had seen Shinya as a person when Ginoza had seen him as a mere dog, and she had inevitably fallen in love with him.  
And suddenly, the woman before him was stronger than she had ever seemed. She had endured so much heartbreak, had seen so many horrible things, yet she managed to keep a level head. Her levelness wasn’t cold, like Ginoza’s (false) composure had been, no, it was quite the opposite: Ginoza had never, in his life, seen a person who cared as deeply and passionately as she did.  
She loved Shinya, but he had not loved her back, not like she had. He was too deeply entangled with Makishima. Maybe, one day, if things had turned out different than they had that day at the factory, he would have loved her. But anything that can go wrong does, and the result is this, the strongest woman he’s ever met, sobbing on a balcony after being caught lighting cigarettes just for a scent of the man she loved.  
He hugs her while she cries, resting his head on hers much like the day he was released from the facility. He holds her there for longer than he cares to count. She clutches his coat, wetting it with her tears.  
She pulls away eventually, and though her eyes are red and puffy, he can see that her mask is once more raised. She’ll go back into their office soon, and continue to do what she does best: helping people.  
“You don’t have to do it like this,” he murmurs. “I will talk to you . . . I’ll help.”  
She sniffs. “Thanks.”  
“Don’t let your hue get cloudy, Tsunemori.”  
“It won’t!” she shouts suddenly, and Ginoza nearly steps back in surprise. “Don’t you see? It won’t ever cloud! All that’s happened and, and, it’s still powder blue! Only minor fluctuations. Do I even grieve? Do I even care? I’m cold hearted!”  
“What--no, what are you saying? Akane, you are not cold hearted!”  
“Then why won’t it cloud? Don’t I care at all?”  
“Are you listening to yourself?” Ginoza can’t believe it. Akane, cold hearted? Never. “Listen to me. You are the most wonderful, caring person I’ve ever met.”  
“You’re wrong--”  
“I said _listen_ , Tsunemori. When I met you, I thought you were a fool. In fact, I think I even said it to your face. All of this was because of the way you treated the Enforcers. You wanted to be friends with everyone, and I, well, I thought your thinking would contribute to your downfall. Apparently it was the other way around.  
“I’ve watched you for many months now. And you have grown into the best detective I have ever seen. You’re smart and observant, but most of all, you are caring. You love people. Your stable hue isn’t a bad thing, Akane, it doesn’t mean you are cold. Don’t you see it? _It means that despite it all, you have never lost your hope and love for humanity._ ”  
Akane looked bewildered. Finally, softly, she spoke. “Do . . . do you honestly believe that?”  
He sighed. “Do you think I would have lied to you?” Slowly she shakes her head. “I honestly believe in what I said. I believe in _you_.”  
She looks up at him, hair fluttering in the breeze that seemed to have picked up since they began talking. “I don’t know what to say.”  
“Then you don’t have to say anything. I won’t mention this to the others,” he vows.  
“Thank you.”  
“One thing, though.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Promise me you won’t light another cigarette. Please. Keep the box, whatever, but please don’t light another.”  
“I won’t,” she promises.  
He catches her doing the same thing three days later, the same day two new Enforcers are assigned to their division. It hurts him to know she didn’t keep her promise, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s a coping mechanism, and he understands it. Nobody can look at Hinakawa Sho and Sakuya Togane without seeing Kagari, Shinya and Masaoka. And it is because of this, he thinks, for the time being, he’ll let her continue.  
***  
There are days when the emptiness of the full Division seems to be screaming at him, and deep down, Ginoza has always wondered whether or not he is the sole cause for this. If he had gone to Nona Tower also, would Kagari had to have gone alone? Would he still have died? If he had been more alert, would Masaoka still be alive? Would he still have his arm? Would they, together, have caught Makishima and allowed Shinya to stay in Japan? There are days when this is all Ginoza can think about, when guilt and anxiety punish him relentlessly.  
Today is one of those days.  
He can’t think straight, can’t focus on the paperwork he’s supposed to be working on. The sentences blur in his eyes, and no matter how many times he reads them no meaning is supplied. He stares at nothing in particular for many minutes; instead, he relives a lifetime’s worth of regret.  
“Enforcer?” He jumps, startled by the sudden voice. Mika repeats: “Enforcer? Are you okay?”  
He looks at her, blinking unfocused eyes. “. . . Quite.”  
She doesn’t look very convinced, but she also doesn’t look like it bothers her very much. “Well, start working then.” She strides back back to her own desk, her gait tall and confident, and it occurs to Ginoza that she doesn’t quite understand how this world works yet.  
He writes in a few more things anyway, and holds out until it is finally time for him to go on break. He heads straight for the balcony, and leans on it, gazing stories beneath himself. The wind outside is blowing incredibly strong, but he barely takes note as it plays with his hair and clothing. There’s something soothing in watching the city below, all the cars driving past the people walking around. Their lives are happy and carefree; most of them have nothing to worry about.  
Ginoza is so lost in thought that he barely notices a hand on his shoulder.  
“Whatcha thinking about?” Akane asks.  
“Just . . . everything.”  
“Everything?”  
“About Masaoka, about Shinya, about Kagari . . .” He lists the names off tonelessly, in a poor attempt to disentangle his thoughts from their fates.  
“Oh.” She rubs his shoulder. “I know what you mean.”  
He should just stop there, but he doesn’t. “Everything that happened at the factory could have been avoided if it weren’t for me. And yet . . . I’m the one who lived, I’m still here . . .”  
“Don’t--” Akane objects.  
He barrells on, voice cracking, barely above a whisper. “Maybe . . . maybe it would have been better if I’d just died.”  
“Nobuchika . . . Nobuchika, think about what you’re saying . . . No! It would not be better!” Ginoza just shrugs, and Akane runs her hand through her hair. “Listen to what you’re saying . . .” she repeats.  
Ginoza straightens up off of the rail. _I shouldn’t have said that_. “No, no . . .” he soothes, trying to smooth the whole subject over. “You’re right. I didn’t mean that. I’ll just . . . go back inside. I’m almost off break, anyway.”  
Akane eyes him suspiciously, and grabs the tail end of his coat before he can make his getaway. “I know you, Ginoza, and I know you’re lying.”  
He sighs. “I’m not lying, Akane.”  
“Yes, you are. I’m not letting this get glossed over.”  
He frowns, and crosses his arms. “. . . Whatever.”  
“Where did you even come up with the idea that--well, you know?”  
He doesn’t meet her eyes.  
“I worry about you, you know,” she murmurs.  
“. . . I know.” _I worry about you, too. Touché._  
“Then talk to me.”  
“Where?”  
“In your room, after work. This isn’t the time nor place for what needs to be said.” Akane relinquishes his coat.  
_I shouldn’t have said that,_ he repeats in his mind.  
Ginoza, head bowed, treads back to the office.  
***  
When his shift is up, he goes straight to his room, and waits. Dime jumps up on the couch after Ginoza lets him out, and halfheartedly the Enforcer scratched his ears. “I don’t really _want_ to die,” he muses aloud to the husky, “but I can’t shake the feeling that it may have been better. That _anything_ I could have done would have made the outcome better.”  
Dime whines, as if he could understand his owner’s words, and rests his head on Ginoza’s lap. “I’m glad that Akane found a way for me to keep you.” A thick, fluffy tail whaps slowly on the couch in response.  
A couple minutes later he hears a rap on the door, and he lets Akane in. They sit down across from each other, and for a moment, there is nothing but silence between them. “Oh, Ginoza,” Akane finally says with a sigh, “what were you even thinking earlier?”  
“I . . . I don’t know,” he admits. “Some days I’m okay, and other days . . . thoughts like that slip in. It’s not that I think it really would be better, just . . .”  
“The what-ifs are always there, aren’t they?”  
He nods. “They are always there . . . hidden in the back of my mind, gnawing at me no matter what I do.”  
“I know. But we have to move on sometimes. And that doesn’t mean that we forget it, Ginoza. Not at all. We remember it, and we let it touch our everyday lives, _but as much as we want to, we can’t change the past_.” She crosses her arms. “You can’t keep beating yourself up over this. I know that it doesn’t matter much anymore, but you have to take care of your hue as well.”  
“I’m sorry I scared you, Tsunemori.”  
“It’s okay. Everything is okay, you know? You don’t have to be alone, you know. You’re not alone--so don’t try to isolate yourself. I don’t have to remind you that it didn’t work last time.”  
She is right, of course. She is always right--Ginoza’s natural response is always to internalize.  
“You don’t _really_ think that it’s your fault, do you?” she inquires in exasperation.  
“Well, who else’s fault is it?” he replies forcefully. “If I hadn’t tripped that wire . . .”  
“Ginoza, you didn’t know that was there! You didn’t see it--nobody saw it!” cried Akane, standing up and beginning to pace.  
“But _I’m_ still the one who did it. I caused everything to happen,” Ginoza retorts sullenly.  
“Did you place the trap? Did you light the dynamite? Did you throw it? Who did all of that?”  
“Makishima,” he mutters. The name alone awoke fury.  
“Yes,” she says gently, sitting down next to him. “And you’re not Makishima. You’re Nobuchika Ginoza. You’re not cruel, you’re compassionate: you’re not a manipulative murderer like he was. _It’s not your fault.”_  
He studies his framed coins on the opposite wall, thinking. Akane has a point. Makishima is at the root of everything--it was him to tricked Shinya, Akane, and Kagari to split up at Nona Tower, it was him who laid the traps, him who killed Masaoka . . . _Was it all really unavoidable? Can I really just blame Makishima?_  
“You don’t have to be alone,” she repeats, tone persuasive and easy. “We’re all going through this, and we can find solace in each other. You don’t have to be alone.”  
“Solace . . .” he muses, and his thoughts wind back to his conversation with the Inspector when he caught her with Shinya’s cigarettes. Cigarettes, solace. Friendship, solace. Is not the conversation they had then much the same as the one they were having now? What is different?  
_Nothing, really._  
“Yes . . . solace,” he says finally. “We will find solace in each other.”  
She smiles slightly. “It’s a rough road, Nobuchika, it’s a rough road. But luckily, you don’t have to navigate it alone.”  
_It’s not my fault. I’m not alone._  
“We can do this together,” Akane offers.  
“Together?” The idea is appealing to Ginoza. He cannot go back to the way he was before; he has to change before he falls back into the ruts of his past life. No more internalizing. No more coldness. No more glasses. _I must change, or die._  
“Yes,” Akane says, blinking big brown eyes that held the world and all its wisdom, “ we will do it together.”

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact when ginoza says he thinks he'd be better off dead that's a canon fact from one of the audio dramas and it maybe broke my heart a little


End file.
